Help Wanted
by mud-toed-sneaker
Summary: For most people, stepping into Foster's means learning that not everything is as it seems, people can surprise you, and the power of imagination is endless. For Drew Beck it means a job and not getting kicked out of her apartment. Hope springs eternal.
1. Blendum's

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. Nor do I wish to. Not big on responsibility.  
Foster's and all it's inhabitants belong to Craig McCracken.  
I get no cash for writing fanfiction.

**Help Wanted  
**By Sam Black

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**Sun:** Bright  
**Sky:** Blue  
**Temp:** Warm  
**Verdict:** A sickeningly average day just like all the other's this town has ever had. Otherwise, it was kinda nice.  
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"Damn," clicking her cell phone shut, Drew Beck cursed her sarcastic wit and inability to resist the temptation of a good piercing parlor. She had yet again racked up another failed attempt at normality and kissing corporate ass.

But at least this one had actually called her back.

"Fourth one this week." Drew murmured darkly, letting her battered flip phone clatter to the table top of the nice outdoor smoothie shop she was currently moping in front of. In her opinion, Blendum's chocolate milkshakes were Prometheus' REAL gift to man. Screw fire.

After another moment or so of staring into her half empty cup, as if looking for a way to blame frozen dairy products for her misfortune, she relented with a sigh and let her head drop to the crook of her folded arms.

Drew Beck just **could not **land a job.

'It's not like I'm some kind of psycho who eats puppies or something!' she thought glumly, running a hand through her short, choppy hair in aggravation.

Frowning with renewed indignation she looked around as if she expected the answer to fall from the sky, 'And it's not like I'm trying to get hired so I can steal office supplies and molest the snack machines during lunch hour,' she added sardonically.

"I just don't see what the problem is!" she said with frustration, throwing her hands up in the air then letting them fall listlessly back down to her lap.

Looking down at her chipped metallic blue nail polish and bead-bracelet covered forearms she grimaced, "Yes I do." with a self-hating groan. The long pause that followed was agonizing.

Just as she was preparing to wrap herself up inside her favorite emotional pity-party blanket, Drew felt a small tap on her shoulder.

Blanking out her face, she turned to see a middle-aged woman with a worried smile on her face looking at her like old high school counselor used to.

Drew Beck  
_--Inability to function Properly in a Structured Society.  
__--Unable to Cooperate with Peers or Authority Figures.  
__--Refusal to Compromise.  
__--_**No Future.**

"Are you okay?" the woman asked as kindly as a complete stranger could.

Drew tilted her head to the side, "Yeah. Why?" she asked innocently.

The woman's eyebrows knit together with concern, "You were talking to yourself." she replied speaking uncertainly.

Drew pretended to looked confused for a minute then snapped her fingers, "Oh! You must have heard me talking to Pez!" she explained, looking as if this sort of thing always happened to her, "He's my sister's imaginary friend, has a habit of being invisible at the most inconvenient times. I'm babysitting him until my sister gets out of ballet." she continued on, giving the helpful woman a look of full understanding.

The woman's smile became genuine as she nodded, "How nice." she said.

Drew nodded as well, "Yep. Sorry to scare you." she replied lightly.

The woman left quickly afterwards and and Drew held her breathe until she rounded the corner. When the woman was finally gone, she slumped back down into her seat with a sigh of relief, "Lying really IS my forte." she said with only a hint of amazement.

The old "I was talking to my Imaginary Friend" routine never failed to convince curious bystanders that there was no need to question her sanity.

Drew rolled her eyes and took a sip of her milkshake, "Like I even have a sister." she muttered with a small snort of laughter aimed mostly at herself.

'All right, let's see. Lost a sock, spilled my coffee, burnt my toast, ran out of hot water in the shower, nearly ran over a puppy, missed most of my CPR class, swallowed a bug while driving, got turned down for another job, and lied to some lady who was just trying to be nice.' Drew rambled on internally, ticking the day's quirks off her fingers while she did it, 'At least I still have my health.' she concluded with a grimace.

Picking up her cup and messenger bag Drew made her way over to the trashcans, hoping that the day would start to look up sometime soon.

Apparently, Life wasn't feeling very kind at the moment.

As she was trying to throw way her cup some guy came running around the corner, obviously to concerned with watching where he was going, to pay attention to people who were actually in the way. He pushed his way past her, bumping her shoulder harder than was appropriate.

"Ow! Hey!" Drew snapped grabbing her aching arm, "Be more polite the next time you want to dislocate my shoulder, **jerk**!" she called out ofter the guy. He didn't even bother to turn around.

What a lovely town.

Drew was seething, "What a complete jacka-"

"Are you okay, Miss?" someone meekly interrupted her rage.

Surprised, Drew reacted with unbecoming snark, "_No_! Did you see that?! The guy didn't eve-" her reply was cut short when she realized she was only talking to the top of someone's head.

Looking down, she arched an eyebrow. 'My, what a large head you have.' she thought in amusement.

"Miss?" the boy asked again.

That seemed to snap her out of it, "Oh uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm good." she reassured the child, "Just uh, got a bit jostled." she added with a weak laugh.

The boy seemed satisfied, "Okay. Well if you're sure." he said, taking a tentative step back but keeping his concern on her in case she decided that she wasn't alright.

Drew gave him a smile and a thumbs-up, "Yep. Plucky as ever. Thanks though." she said with gusto.

The boy nodded and began to walk away, just then Drew noticed him holding a large stack of fliers. Her interest peaked, she reached out to stop him from going, "Hey. What are those?" she asked with a curiosity, that she felt, came out of nowhere.

The brown-haired boy turned around and gave her a grin, "How well-equipped are you in dealing with Imaginary Friends?"

That was not the answer she was expecting. Not even close. She had been thinking it was for a concert or a bake sale or something equally expectable. Her answer reflected her confusion.

"Is that a common skill normal people have?" she asked with a tilt to her head.

The boy shrugged, and held up the bright yellow flier.

**HELP WANTED**

Drew smiled slowly. That was all she needed to know.

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A/N: What do you _honestly_ think? **Try** not to sugar-coat it. I'm a big girl, I think I can handle con-crit.


	2. XeroxWorld

**Chapter 2**

**By Sam Black**

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**A FEW DAYS BEFORE...**

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"Grandma, I need help."

"You certainly do, Deary," Madame Foster said as she ambled down the stairs with the aid of a cane. Unless you knew her, she would have struck you as some little old lady who could remember her flapper's days with startling clarity but would always forget her grand children's names.

And you would be wrong on both accounts. First off, in the 20's she was doing more bootlegging than flapping. And secondly, despite her grandmotherly habit of calling a lot of people "Deary" she could remember more than just names. She knows everything that goes on in Foster's, either by word-of-mouth or by keeping up with the security cameras that Bloo SWEARS she's had installed throughout the house.

"This house is just too much for one, single person to-wait, what?"

Madame Foster gave her granddaughter, Frankie, a knowing look, "When is the last time you brushed your hair?" she asked. Her voice is so sweet, it sounded like she was asking if you wanted her to bake you some cookies.

Frankie stumbled over her thoughts, 'I brushed my hair this morning right?' she asked herself. Her hand immediately went to her messy ponytail.

"That's what I thought." the older woman said with a nod, she continue on her way and Frankie walked quickly to catch up with her.

"What am I gonna do about Mr. Herriman? He's the one that has to fill out all the paperwork." she fret as she walked along side her grandmother, "What if I ask him and he says "no", you know how he is." she adds with a roll of her eyes.

Madame Foster laughed and looked sidelong..and upwards at Frankie, "He was made that way, Deary. He can't help it." she explained, "He likes order and procedure, tradition and etiquette. He is a _gentleman's_ rabbit."

Frankie rolled her eyes and shuffled her feet, "So what should I do? Type up a proposal and leave it on his desk?" she said with only a small hint of humor.

Madame Foster slowed her steps until she finally came to a halt right in front of the Tea Room, "You're learning." she said and walked in, leaving her granddaughter standing in the hallway, stunned speechless.

"I was **JOKING**!" she exclaimed.

Well, mostly speechless.

Running a hand over her face she looked around the hallway in frustration. 'A proposal?!" she demanded. Shaking her head she began to backtrack down the hall.

'_A proposal. I'm supposed to write up a proposal asking for permission to hire help.'_

Finding herself back in the Grand Hall she looked around and finally settled on doing some laundry before it piled up on her again.

'_I can't believe this.'_

As she navigated her way through the seemingly endless halls toward the laundry room she thought about the idea some more. Okay, so maybe she would have to swallow some of her pride and play by Fuzz butt's rules, but at least she would have someone to help with the laundry...and dishes...and mopping...and vacuuming...and polishing...and cooking...and the windows...and keeping Bloo off the chandelier...and...and...

Francis Foster sighed and gave in. She'd play by procedure. She'd roll her eyes, and groan, and complain, and curse business etiquette the entire time, but by the end of the night she'd have that damn proposal on Herriman's desk even if it killed her.

Grinding her teeth, she walked into the laundry room and groaned. The piles of laundry were almost as tall as she was. Her eyes narrowed. '_Those Help Wanted signs are going to be BRIGHT YELLOW,'_ she vowed in aggravation.

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Dear Mr. Herriman,

I, Francis Foster, humbly ask for your consent in matters dealing with keeping the household at the utmost level of efficiency and hygiene.

This letter is to proposition the addition of an extra employee to aid me with the increasing influx of household duties that I am in charge of. With the addition of new friends comes an increase in laundry, dishes, and miscellaneous messes.

Along with most of my duties, these increases seem to have become more than I can handle alone. And as much as I hate to admit it, I am sorely falling behind.

With the addition of a second employee, who would become assistant caretaker, the chores would go faster, more messes would be averted, and more eyes would be kept on the friends.

With this extra help, the activities of the house would run smoother, meals would not be late, areas needing attention would not be put off for more pressing matters, and there would be less stress for everyone involved, including you Mr. Herriman.

Now, I know how much effort the whole process of Hiring can take up. So, to save your valuable time, I would be willing to take on the entire project myself without skirting from my duties. The advertising, the interviews, the background checks, I would take care of it all. Of course, I would run every worthwhile potential candidate by you first. And if anything about them does not meet your standards, I will refuse to hire them.

I beg you to consider my proposition and take into account that if I had been able to handle it on my own, I would not have wasted your time. But seeing as how I have, I implore you to think it over.

Thank you for your consideration. Your humble employee,

Francis Foster.

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"Miss Francis, report to my office immediately." the distinctly British accent rang true through the halls of Foster's.

Frankie halted her attempt to mop up a spill in the dining room, "He doesn't...sound mad." she remarked thoughtfully. Her hope rose, even though her stomach felt leaden.

Putting the mop and bucket in the corner, so she could return to it later, she made her way towards Herriman's office.

'_He's going to tell me 'no'. He's going to say 'Nice try. But nope.' in that uppity accent.'_

Looking at all the pictures and eclectic collection of portraits and painting on the walls she tried to distract herself. As a kid she used to love running up and down these halls and looking at everything trying to memorize it all. It's been a while since she really looked closely at anything. Unless she was cleaning it, of course. She could probably tell you exactly how many individual tiles are in the kitchen and the number windows there are on every floor of the entire house. Not like it's really USEFUL, but she could do it.

'_Maybe it won't be that bad. Maybe he won't say 'no', maybe he'll just stare at me until I start to cry._' she thought grimly.

Her steps were careful, slow. Just delaying the inevitable. She got to the painting of an old woman posing with fruit and took a left.

'_He's gonna say "yes", I wrote a** proposal** for crying out loud. It doesn't get any fancier than that.'_

Another left at the corner and she's down the hall from his office.

'_Stay strong. You NEED an extra hand. You can't keep asking Wilt, it's not like he'll ever turn you down, so it's unfair. He's a friend. He's not paid to work. He does it out of kindness. You're just taking advantage of him. So keep that in mind.'_

She was just outside Herriman's door.

_'Okay Frankie. Deep breath. And...knock.'_

She remained frozen.

_'Knock on the door.'_

Nothing. She couldn't do it.

_'Get your arm up... Raise your arm!'_

Taking a deep breath, she raised her arm to the door, fist poised to knock. She stared hard.

_'What are you waiting for? Knock on the damn door! You're wasting his time!'_

She let her arm fall. What if he didn't let her hire someone. What was she going to do?

_'He's just a rabbit! Pick your arm back up! Pick it up right now! He's an overgrown plush toy! Get your ass in there!'_

Frankie frowned, since when has she been afraid of Mr. Herriman?

_'You aren't. Now knock on the door. Go in there. And get this over with. Band-aid quick, okay? 1..2..3...Go!'_

Her knock echoed around in her mind.

"Come in Miss Francis." a tired voice called out.

Gritting her teeth, Frankie turned the doorknob and walked in.

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The halls seemed smaller when she emerged, not as intimidating as they were. The whole world seemed a little lighter.

As she followed her normal route back to the dining room her thoughts remained quiet.

"Frankie?" a familiar voice called out. She must have looked troubled.

The redhead turned and was surprised to see Wilt sitting at the bottom of the grand staircase, helping a friend tie their shoes. Well, not that surprised. He always helped Sneaks tie his shoes.

"Hey Wilt." she said, face suddenly breaking into a smile.

Wilt tilted his head to the side, and gave her a strange look, "I'm sorry, but are you okay?" he asked. Frankie only nodded.

Sneaks cleared his throat, Wilt looked startled and finished tying the laces. When he was done, he stood up and walked over to Frankie, joining her as she walked back to the Dining Room.

"So, is anything up?" Wilt inquired casually.

Frankie ignored the question for the most part, "Hey Wilt? You uh, you wanna go with me to XeroxWorld tomorrow?" she asked.

The tall friend narrowed an eye in confusion, "Huh. Well sure Frankie, always happy to help." he replied cheerfully.

Frankie stopped in her tracks, "No Wilt. **Not **to help. Just to go with me. _For fun_." she explained slowly with a firm look on her face.

This actually managed to surprise Wilt, "Really?' he asked.

Frankie nodded, "Yep. Just want you for your company." she said, "So, waddya say?"

Wilt thought about it for a moment, "I guess that would be okay." he said uncertainly.

Frankie raised an eyebrow, and started walking again.

Wilt kept at her side, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. What are you going to do at XeroxWorld?"

Frankie came to a stop in the Dining Room, looking over at the mop in the corner she smirked, "Getting myself a lackey." she said with satisfaction.

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**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews. Well, more like one review. My brother's doesn't count because he wrote the word "Please" in net-speak and spelled it with an "x". I had to smack him in the head. Thanks anyway, Eric. You too, M. Noodles.


	3. Inbetween

**Chap****ter 3  
****By Sam Black**

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**Location:** Hiding Behind Blendum's  
**Objective**: Avoiding Visual Contact  
**End Goal**: Getting A Job

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"Okay, keep cool. Keep cool. I'm just gonna call and see what the job is about."

Drew took a deep breath and pulled out her cell phone, looking at the phone number on the flier she could immediately tell that it was probably a cell number. Looking around the corner of the Blendum's building she spied the cute red-head handing out fliers. 'Probably her cell phone.' she thought confidently.

Now, normally she wouldn't have gone through so much trouble, she might have walked straight up to the girl and inquired about the job. But after about 10 or so botched interviews she figured that phone calls were safer.

The kid, Mac, had told her that the job would probably be a lot of cleaning and fixing things. 'He was a nice kid actually,' Drew thought with a nod, 'Probably as polite as they come.'

But the job was the important thing, the wage was decent, not GREAT, but decent. Decent enough to pay the bills. And the work didn't seem that hard, there was just a lot of it. She could handle that too. The only thing bothering her was the little voice in the back of her head that reminded her of her biggest hang-up. The one thing that kept her from dialing the number and charming the heck out of whoever answered.

She would have to take care of imaginary friends.

She had absolutely no idea how that would work. Drew knew nothing about imaginary friends. Okay, sure, she knew the basics. Like they were imaginary, but also real. They usually stayed with the kid until they grew too old for an imaginary friend. Well, usually. Her neighbor, Zach, has had his imaginary friend since he was eight, and he's 35 now. Hiccup was a good guy, great sense of humor, craziest fur she'd ever seen, likes peanut butter a lot.

But when it came to everything else, she was clueless about that kind of stuff.

'I mean, how do they heal? What if they get sick or hurt? Do they fall in love? Do they have nightmares and dreams? Do they have goals? Do they age? I know nothing. NUH-THING!' she thought worriedly, looking around in a self-induced panic she resigned herself to biting her nails. Realizing this was completely useless and began digging around in her bag for a better bad habit.

Finding her Kool's she opened the pack and retrieved the lighter from her pocket, 'These things are gonna kill you Drew.' she scolded herself as she lit up.

Sighing as she leaned against the wall, her thoughts troubled her as she exhaled pale gray smoke. Sure she needed a job, and she REALLY needed the money. But these are living creatures, what if she messed something up? What if she sucked royally as an "Assistant Estates Manager". Taking another puff she felt her self sliding down until she was seated on the cold ground of the alleyway between Blendum's and some electronics store.

Clearing her head seemed to be getting harder and harder. The doubt and what-ifs kept making it impossible to think. But the cigarette was helping. A little.

She sat in that alley a little longer, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Looking at the flier and examining all the intricate little details. Not that there were many. It was straight, simple, and to the point. A little sheet of paper that pretty much screamed something along the lines of "HELP ME! I'm stuck in a well! Somebody go get Lassie!" in the way of classified ads.

Finally Drew snuffed out her cigarette on the asphalt and stood up. Shaking out her shoulder and rolling her head she psyched herself up.

'Okay. Just chill, okay? This is going to be a snap. Just call them up and see, no big deal. Noooo big deal,' taking a deep breath, Drew punched in the number and waited for the ring.

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"Hello, Frankie Foster speaking."

The voice on the other end of the line sounded nervous, "Um...yes, I was just calling to inquire about the job offer for an assistant?"

Frankie smiled, 'That was quick', she held the phone between her shoulder and ear as she continued to staple up fliers.

"Yeah, we're currently looking for someone who can help me clean and cook and look after the place." she said, trying to juggle numerous object was proving to be a struggle.

"Well, sounds pretty standard. I worked as a short-order cook for a few months, so cooking isn't a big problem. What kind of cleaning?" The woman seemed to be gaining confidence.

Frankie groaned, "A lot. Dishes. Laundry. Mopping. Sweeping. Vacuuming. You name it, I do it. That's why I need the help," she explained, "Ow! Damn. Paper cut." she swore dropping the fliers and stapler and putting her finger into her mouth.

The woman laughed, "I'll bet. Sounds like you've got a handful." she said with amusement.

"So yeah, if it sounds like too much work-"

The girl cut her off, "No, no! Um, I don't mind. Actually, working in a place filled with imaginary friends sounds kind of...interesting." she assured.

Frankie arched an eyebrow, "Really."

"Yeah, "The girl continued, "Never really had an imaginary friend of my own, so I think it would be kind of cool. You know?"

Frankie looked surprised, "Want to set up an interview?" she asked, patting her pockets down for a pen, "I can explain more about the job, have you fill out some paperwork, do a background check. When would you be available?" Ah-ha! Found one. Reaching down she grabbed up a flier and flipped it over.

The voice on the phone faltered, "Um...I think..tomorrow?"

Frankie grinned, "Great! How does 1 o'clock sound?" she asked looking around for someplace to write on. The only thing available was a bumpy phone pole. Grimacing, Frankie put the paper against it an began to write, still keeping the phone securely between her head and shoulder.

"Perfect. Um, I just go there, to Foster's?" the girl asked.

Frankie nodded, "Yeah. What's your name?"

"Drew Beck."

"Need the directions?" Frankie asked as she capped her pen and folded her paper up.

Drew shook her head, "Nah. I've been there before, never been inside, but I've drove past it a few times. Shouldn't be too hard to find my way back." she said confidently.

"Alright, great! See you then, Drew."

"Yep. See you then." Drew replied weakly.

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Drew hung up and let out a huge breath of air, "Oh God, I got an interview." she whispered.

A guy in sweats jogged past her, the birds were chirping and trying to peck at people's dropped French fries, the air smelled fresh. To Drew, the world seemed impossibly chipper.

"1 o' clock. Fosters." Slipping her phone into her bag she stared down at her shoes, "Great."

'I should probably dress nice, ' she thought to herself, as she began to walk home, "OR MAYBE...I won't!" she exclaimed. Stepping off the curb, she proceeded to jaywalk across the street. Liked to live life on the wild side, that one did.

After a moment though and a few more steps she decided that dressing nice would probably be a good idea. No use fucking up a perfectly good interview just because she was stubborn.

'Now what to wear...' she pondered this for a moment as she strolled down the side walk that lead to her 4th floor apartment, pet cat, and a slice of chocolate cake with her name written all over it..

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A/N: Wow. Chapter 3. Now let's see if I can stick this out to the end.


End file.
